Fight
by darthsydious
Summary: What could have gotten Anthea so upset? Mycroft isn't sure, but he'd better do something to make it better.


"Anthea-" the speed increased in her gait, her heels clicking down the hall. "Anthea, you're not being reasonable."

"Go to Hell!" she snapped, having reached their bedroom, she slammed the door, the tumblers in the lock clicking in place.

Mycroft studied the wood panel; the painted rococo roses caught the light from the window, rain casting shadows on the wall.

"Anthea-" his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, frowning. Who could be texting him at this hour?

_I'm not talking to you until you understand why I'm angry at you. –A_

_P.S. Leave the vicinity of this room. –A _

"This is ridiculous!" he burst out, knocking on her door. "Open up, this instant, stop acting like a child."

Again, his phone buzzed.

_I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes, but I'm off the clock right now. If you wish to speak face-to-face, either wait until normal business hours or apologise. –A_

He ground his teeth, turning on his heel.

He certainly wasn't going to apologize if he hadn't done anything wrong. Eventually she'd come to her senses and then she'd come out and all would be well again.

His phone buzzed again, this time it was from his sister in-law

_OMW home from St. Barts, going to drop files off you needed for that case Sherlock's on, regarding PM's cousin. MollyH _

Molly! Molly would know what the matter with Anthea was. Perhaps she could talk some sense into her. Anthea and Molly had always gotten on rather well. Indeed, Anthea had actually vouched for Molly Hooper in Sherlock's early years of slipping into St. Barts mortuary.

The Pathologist arrived, John Watson in tow.

"Molly," he greeted her, bending slightly so she could kiss his cheek as was her customary greeting. "Doctor Watson,"

"Mycroft," he nodded.

"Night shift at St. Barts, Doctor? How very curious."

"Filling in," he shrugged sleepily. "Sherlock likes me to see Molly home if I can help it if he can't be there,"

"Hm."

Molly was laying out the papers on his desk, the important sections highlighted already.

"Where's Anthea? I thought she'd want to see these," Molly said, looking around the empty office.

"She's upstairs," Mycroft replied evenly.

"Uh-oh," John glanced from the elder Holmes to Molly.

"What?" Mycroft and John both asked. Hands on her hips, Molly frowned at Mycroft.

"What did you say to her?"

"I have said nothing, sister-mine, she was behaving irrationally-"

"Oh God," John interrupted. "You weren't stupid enough to call her that were you?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Mycroft bristled. He paused. "I told her she wasn't being _reasonable_."

"You idiot-"

"Same difference-" John and Molly spoke at once.

"Do tell then, what I was supposed to tell her?"

"I can't help if you don't tell me what it is," Molly said. Mycroft sighed heavily.

"We attended the gala this evening," he shrugged. "It went as these things usually did."

"Well you must have done or said something to make her angry," John said. "Did you not comment on her dress or something?"

"Anthea is not so easily insulted as that,"

"Neither is Mary, but a lady still likes to be told she's beautiful, especially if she makes an extra effort." Mycroft thought carefully. Anthea _had_ taken extra time tonight. In fact she'd been fussing over her appearance up until he knocked on the bathroom door and told her to hurry up. Then he'd reminded her what time the gala would be starting and-

"Hm."

"What?" Molly asked.

"Nothing, well," Mycroft shrugged. "She seemed quite excited all evening, up until I came to fetch her as the car was waiting downstairs."

"What happened?"

"I told her when we were expected at the Gala, and that if she didn't finish primping we would be late." Molly and John both frowned. "Did she talk to you at all, Molly?"

"No, well, she texted me yesterday morning, she was excited because she bought a new frock, said it was for tonight, that it was extra special for you and her." Mycroft was confused. Why was tonight so special? Galas were common enough. He thought very carefully now, searching his memory of Anthea that evening. Green velvet gown, way off the shoulder, but tastefully so, hair upswept in an elegant knot, all braids and pearls and she'd even taken time with a curling iron, which she hated, but knew he liked her hair curled. The evening called for white tie and tails for gentlemen and ladies to wear long and gloves. He had noted he could see she'd put on the ring he'd presented to her as an engagement present, the jewel making a slightly bump under her gloves. The bracelet on her wrist was a vintage piece, something his father had given his mother. When Violet Holmes passed on, Sigurd had given Sherlock and Mycroft pieces to give to their wives. Molly had gotten Violet's string of pearls, and Anthea the garnet and diamond bracelet. That particular bracelet held a special place in his mother's heart, as Sigurd had surprised her with it for their first anniversary, and the jewels were real. Mycroft recalled thinking how very stylish it was, especially on Anthea, and how much it suited her. She loved it especially because it was a piece of sentimental value to his family, it being a first anniversary present and so on-

"Oh…" Mycroft suddenly realized. _"Oh…"_

"What?" Molly and John asked.

"If…you would excuse me, please," Mycroft asked them quietly. "Thank you for bringing the papers, Molly, and do tell Sherlock I'll drop in later tomorrow or Saturday."

"Saturday? Well, are you sure-"

"Quite sure, thank you, good night," he maintained his calm, though he'd felt the blood drain from his face. Molly shrugged into her coat, taking her purse as she waved goodbye. John only quirked a smile at him.

"Whatever you do, be humble, and actually mean it when you say 'sorry', ladies know when you don't mean it."

"Thank you, Doctor Watson," he managed to choke out, knuckles turning white from gripping the desk.

"Best of luck," John nodded and hurried after Molly, the door shut after him cutting off his shrill whistle for a taxi.

Slowly, Mycroft rounded the desk, shutting lights off as he went. He paused at the stairs, and then turned to the kitchen. Going to the fridge, he found what he was looking for, and after taking down two glasses and two sets of silverware, he made his way upstairs, quite prepared to eat humble pie.

Anthea finished wiping her make-up off, sighing heavily. She changed into her pyjamas, still not quite prepared to remove the bracelet from Violet Holmes. On the clasp, _'VH'_ had been inscribed, and on the opposite side, _'AH'_ had been added when Mycroft had presented it to her. A soft knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. Taking a breath, she steeled herself.

"Who is it?"

"May I come in?" Mycroft's tone was soft.

There was a pregnant pause.

"Please, Anthea," he licked his lips, shifting from foot to foot. "This is no way to spend our first anniversary." The door opened slowly, and she peeked out from behind it. He stood, head lowered somewhat, in his hands he carried a tray with a bottle of champagne, two glasses and the rest of the cake Molly had sent over the day before as an early anniversary present. "There wasn't much else in the fridge," he excused. "I could order something up; you didn't get a chance to eat much, tonight."

"It's fine," she murmured, and stepped aside. "Come in," He stepped past her, and she shut the door behind him. Setting the tray down, he turned to her.

"I am sorry for forgetting," he said at last. "I'm not one for celebrating anniversaries or birthdays or holidays, I always thought they were mediocre and silly," a pause. "But you are neither of these things, so, if you still wish to, perhaps we could celebrate the last few hours of our first anniversary, and next year, have a proper celebration, party and…cake and…guests and all that,"

"I'd rather just celebrate with you," she sniffled, though she was smiling. He nodded then, eyes warm, and he felt his pulse slow down to its usual pace. He was forgiven.

"The bracelet becomes you," he murmured finally. "And you looked very beautiful tonight,"

"You told me earlier," she said.

"I meant it then too," he said with a shrug.

"Well," she cleared her throat, wiped her eyes once more. "If you'll kiss me, we can open the champagne and celebrate properly."

"I intend to," he murmured, and bent, drawing her near him.


End file.
